The Gotham night smelled of blood and broken vows. George Wayne towered over the crumpled form of Sal Maroni, once-mighty mobster, now nothing but a whimpering heap of flesh and expensive cloth.
"It's over, Maroni," George growled, his voice like a symphony of gravel and steel. "Your empire falls tonight."
Maroni spat blood, defiance flickering in his eyes. "You think you've won, freak? There's always another waiting in the wings."
A shadow moved, silent as death itself. George's instincts screamed. He whirled, barely deflecting a strike that would have crushed his throat. A woman, lithe and lethal, danced away from his counter.
"Who the hell-" George started, but she was on him again, a hurricane of strikes that pushed even his superhuman reflexes to the limit.
The voice in his head cackled with glee. "Oh, this one's got teeth, kid. Better watch yourself."
George grunted, soaking up a kick that would have pulverized a normal man's ribs. He lashed out, his giant fist whistling through empty air as the woman flowed around it like smoke.
"You're good," she purred, her accent a cocktail of exoticism and danger. "But not good enough."
Recognition flashed in George's mind, pieces clicking together like a deadly puzzle. "Lady Shiva," he breathed, equal parts awe and dread.
Her eyes narrowed. "You know me. Interesting."
She whipped up another assault, her techniques a blur of lethal perfection. George felt his Reading System working overtime, absorbing, analyzing. But it wasn't fast enough. Not yet.
A palm strike slipped past his guard, sending him staggering. "Patience," the voice whispered. "Let her teach you."
George's jaw clenched. Patience be damned. Not with Lady Shiva trying to turn him into Gotham's newest sidewalk art.
He roared, unleashing a barrage of his own. Raw power met surgical precision in a deadly waltz. Fists flew, bones cracked, and the very air seemed to tremble with each impact.
As they fought, Gotham held its collective breath. It was the sense that one side or the other was about to get the upper hand.
This was not a fight. In the blood and the sweat, on the unsympathetic anvil of these streets of the city, there was a fight that was hammering out a legend.
The Reading System throbbed into George's brain, the thing soaking up every move, every technique. He just had to hold it together for a little longer. Just a bit more.
Her foot met his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, gasping. She didn't allow him any quarter, launching herself at him in a flurry of blows.
"Is this all the great Batman has to offer?" she asked her eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
George's vision blurred as pain threatened to overwhelm him. But beneath it all, he felt something else. The Reading System hummed with all it's learning.
A grin, feral and dangerous, spread over his face. "No," he growled. "This is just the warm-up."
And with that, he launched himself back into the fray, his movements now a mirror of Shiva's own deadly grace. The tide of battle had shifted, and Gotham trembled at the birth of something new. Something terrifying.
Something unstoppable.
Lady Shiva and George Wayne circled each other in the chill of the night air like two apex predators locked in a deadly dance. Her eyes narrowed, confusion etched on her face, mingled with frustration as she hissed out the question. "How… are you doing this?" Her movements were no longer fluid poetry but that of desperate survival.
George's frame was massive, moving with impossible grace; every strike was a mirror of Shiva's own techniques. "I'm a fast learner." He growled. A feral grin spread beneath his cowl. The voice in his head cackled with glee. 'That's it, kid. Show her what real power looks like.'
Shiva launched herself, a final despairing attack. George caught her wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency. She gasped, dropping to one knee. "It's over," George rumbled, his free hand curling into a fist. "Time to end this."
The voice whispered, dark and seductive. "Do it. She's too dangerous to leave alive."
George hesitated. The weight was on him. The night suddenly was full of bullets. Maroni's men, dozens of them, poured out of every entrance and side alley like rats from a sinking ship.
"Shit!" George barked, diving for the deck. Bullets began to shower on the dumpsters and brick walls, turning this narrow space into a killing field. He looked over at Shiva, who was already melting into the shadows. Briefly, their eyes locked, and they shared an unspoken agreement: unfinished business.
Slamming into the rooftop nearest to his position, George could hear the gunfire receding into the distance. His mind was already racing over what had transpired that night. Maroni was now after him, and Lady Shiva… well, she was just a wild card he hadn't counted on.
The voice laughed in his head. "Getting complicated, isn't it, kid?"
George's jaw set as he gazed over the sprawl. Gotham's lights twinkled like false stars, each one holding innumerable secrets and dangers. "Moroni thinks he can hide behind his guns," he muttered. "And Shiva. She'll be back. They always come back."
He leaped into the night, a dark sentinel gliding amongst the towers.
The voice in his head laughed, pure and darkly joyful. "That's my boy. Show them what a real monster looks like."
* * *
Lies sparkled in the Wayne Manor ballroom, champagne & smiles hanging off the chandeliers. George Wayne, Gotham's golden boy, worked it with the best of them. Coiled beneath the charm, his muscles might as well have been steel springs.
"Mr. Wayne, you are really a very generous man," said a fluttering socialite, her eyes greedy for a little more than his riches.
George laughed mechanically, hollowness apparent within. "Please, call me George. And it's the least I can do for our fair city."
He excused himself, needing air. The balcony beckoned, an inch of solitude within the crushing crowd. The cool night air hit his face, and for a moment he let his guard down.
It was a mistake.
The merest whisper of movement was his only warning. Pain exploded in his kidney as a well-placed blow sent him stumbling. He whirled, face-to-face with a nightmare.
"Lady Shiva," he growled, knowing his attacker even as she struck another crippling blow.
Her smile was razor-sharp. "The young Wayne heir. Or should I say. Batman?"
George's blood went cold. He fought back, but Shiva was smoke, impossible to grab. Just that fast, he was on his knees trying to suck in a breath.
"Are you going to kill me?" he managed, tasting copper.
Shiva laughed, the sound like broken glass. "That was the plan. Penguin doesn't appreciate you interfering with his... business ventures."
George tensed, waiting for the killing blow. It never came.
"But you…" Shiva circled him, predatory. "You intrigue me, George Wayne. I've never met a man quite like you."
Her fingers traced over his jaw line, deceptively gentle. George's pulse raced, torn between fight or flight… or something else entirely.
"This is a terrible idea," he murmured, even as he rose to meet her.
"The worst," Shiva agreed, her eyes blazing with a different kind of hunger now.
Their lips crashed together, all teeth and desperation. George's hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. Shiva's legs wrapped around him in a deadly embrace.
"You know I could still kill you," she breathed against his neck.
George's laugh was dark. "I'd like to see you try."
They stumbled into the shadows, two predators giving in to baser instincts. The party continued below, oblivious to the dangerous dance unfolding above.
In the deep recesses of George's mind, a familiar voice chortled. "Oh, kid. You're playing with fire now."
But for once, George didn't care. Tonight, he'd burn.
The man eventually pushed back into the thronged ballroom, his face impassive, concealing the storm inside. His muscles all but screamed from Shiva's abuse, yet he moved with the undaunted grace learned from endless repetition, refusing to betray the weakness he felt.
"Mr. Wayne!" A shrill voice cut through the din. "Where have you been hiding?"
George turned, fixing a charming smile on his face. "Just stepped out for some air, Mrs. Vanderbilt. You know how stuffy these affairs can get."
The elderly socialite tittered, obviously unaware of the calamity that had just taken place. "Oh, you young people and your need for fresh air. In my day, we danced until dawn!"
"I'm sure you did," George answered while looking around the room for any threat. The voice in his head, deep and taunting, said, "Always be ready, kid. The night's far from over."
There he was: Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, across the room, surrounded by Gotham's elitists. He hated their laughter. George clenched his jaw, remembering what Shiva had revealed, the fact that someone had hired her to take him out.
"Everything okay with you, Mr. Wayne?" Commissioner Gordon stood at his elbow, a suspicious cast in his eyes.
George smoothed his features by force of will. "Yes, Commissioner. Just mulling over a few charity events in the works."
"If you say so." Gordon's nod was still skeptical. "You keep what I say in mind, though. My door's always open."
He felt Shiva's absence like a physical presence as the night wore on. She'd be back. The hunger in her eyes had been unmistakable, an animal force that rivaled his own darkness.
At last, as the last of the guests filed out, George sagged against a wall. Exhaustion bloomed, threading through him with its own matchless poisons.
"Master George?" Alfred's voice cut through the fog. "Shall I prepare the medical?"
George straightened, shook himself back to strength. "No need, Alfred. I'm fine."
As he went up to his bedroom, George knew that the night was far from over. Shiva would come back, drawn in by a connection neither of them fully knew. And Gotham? Gotham would have its pound of flesh.
George shut his eyes, bracing himself for the fights that lay ahead and soon blinked his eyes open, the remnants of his power nap clinging to his mind. The aches had subsided to a dull roar, a testament to whatever techniques he'd gleaned from the Reading System. He turned his head to check, only to be met with the unnervingly direct gaze of Lady Shiva's.
"Christ!" he snapped, jerking upward. "Do you always watch men sleep, or am I just special?"
Shiva smirked, the expression on her face a little too predatory for comfort. "Your healing powers are impressive, George Wayne. Most would still writhe in agony."
George uncoiled his muscles whilst swinging his legs over the bed. "Yeah, well, I'm not most men. What do you want, Shiva?"
She trailed a finger across the edge of the nightstand, her eyes never leaving his face. "Perhaps I simply wanted to admire the view. You are… intriguing."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," George growled, standing to his full, imposing height. He towered over Shiva, yet her stance remained relaxed, almost mocking. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to do."
Shiva's eyebrow arched. "The Batman never rests, does he?"
George ignored her, striding to the hidden panel that concealed his suit. The familiar black and grey armor slid into place, each piece a comforting weight. The yellow utility belt clicked about his waist, loaded with gadgets and contingencies.
"You trust me not to interfere?" Shiva asked, her tone light but laced with danger.
George turned, the cowl clutched in his hands. His voice dropped an octave, becoming the gravelly growl of the Bat. "I trust that you're smart enough to know what would happen if you tried."
A throaty chuckle escaped Shiva's lips. "Oh, I do love a man with confidence. Go on then, Dark Knight. Gotham awaits its savior."
With each article of the cowl George added until he became complete, the murmuring of his mind awoke. "Watch your back, kid. That one's got claws, and she ain't afraid to use 'em."
Batman grunted and moved for the window, then stopped, pivoting to fix Shiva with a steely glance. "Don't be here when I get back."
The dark silhouette of Gotham loomed before him, a maze of steel and concrete for the taking. Behind Batman, his cape billowed, a flag of vengeance in the polluted air. Each step his boots took on this rooftop was a portent of thunder in an urban jungle.
Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, whispering secrets that only he could hear. The night pulsed with a heartbeat that was desperate, violent, and alive. Bruce felt it down in his bones, like some ancient, primal call to action, which set his blood on fire.
His mind reeled, fitting shards of information together like a jigsaw puzzle of corruption. The warehouse district beckoned, a siren song of danger that pulled at the very heart of him. He did not hesitate and simply dived off the ledge, embracing the fall like an old friend.
The grapnel fired; a lifeline piercing the darkness. Batman swung through the concrete canyons, a wraith of justice, in pursuit. His jaw would snap, his muscles coiled tight like piano wire, ready to unleash hell on the Gotham underworld.
Slickly, almost aside to the target, a grim smile played across his face. Shadows tonight would bleed. The new masters of fear would have their night. The Dark Knight had come. Gotham's sinners would pay the price in blood.
* * *
"Jesus Christ!" one of the thugs yelled, spitting blood as he raised himself, taking steps backward. "The hell are you?"
Batman's lips pulled back in a snarl. "Your worst nightmare."
The voice in his head cackled. "Cliché, kid. But effective."
Bodies littered the concrete, groaning and broken. George moved like a force of nature, Shiva's lethal grace melding with his raw power. A roundhouse kick sent the last man flying, skull cracking against a steel beam.
"Maroni!" Batman's roar echoed through the empty streets. "You can't run forever!"
Sal Maroni was pounding down an alley, sweating and panting. His fine suit was in tatters, his face ghostly with fright. "Stay back, you freak!"
George heard Maroni's panting breath and the ragged beat of his heart. He leaped up and over a dumpster, closing the distance.
"Please!" Maroni wheezed from behind a chain-link fence, nowhere left to run. "I got a family. Kids."
Batman loomed over him, a mountain of muscle and shadow. "Should've thought of that before you started pushing poison on the streets."
"It was Falcone!" Maroni squealed. "He's the one you want!"
George's fist shot out, snatching Maroni by the collar. He hurled the mobster into the fence. "I want names. Shipments. Everything."
Maroni cast his eyes to and fro. "You don't understand. They'll kill me!"
"And what do you think I'll do?" he growled, his other hand clenching into a fist.
The voice in George's head whispered back, dark and seductive. "Break him, kid. Make him scream."
George wavered, grappling with the darkness inside him. Maroni saw his chance and struck with a hidden blade. It skittered harmlessly off the Batsuit's armor.
"Wrong move," growled Batman. His fist found Maroni's jaw, and all went dark for the mobster.
As police sirens wail in the distance, George zip-tied Maroni and left him dangling from the streetlight, then grappled to a nearby rooftop as Gordon's men swarmed in.
"Not bad for a night's work," chuckled the voice. "But Gotham's rot? It runs deep. You've barely scratched the surface."
George's jaw clenched. He knew the voice was right; this was just the beginning. As he melted into the shadows, his mind raced with possibilities. Maroni's intel would lead to bigger fish. Falcone. The Court of Owls. Maybe even the League of Assassins.
The game was on, and the Batman was playing for keeps.
* * *
Still clad in the sweat-soaked Batsuit, George Wayne slipped through the window to his penthouse. His muscles ached from a working night. That voice in his head chuckled darkly, "Quite a night, kid. But the real fight's waiting in your bed."
His eyes narrowed when he saw Shiva's lithe form sprawled on his sheets. She wore naught but that smile—all predator.
"Didn't I tell you to be gone?" George growled, tearing off his cowl.
Shiva's laugh was low, dangerous. "Since when do I follow orders, Dark Knight?"
George's jaw pulled taut. "This is not a game, Shiva."
"Oh, but it is," she purred back as she rose off the bed like a cobra uncoiling. "The most dangerous game of all."
Tension filled the air as they circled each other. George dropped his voice that all-important octave lower. "What do you want?"
Shiva's eyes raked over his body—with hunger and appraised. "What every warrior wants – a worthy opponent."
In a heartbeat, she was upon him. Lips crushed with teeth bared. It was less a kiss than a battle for dominance. George's hands eventually tangled in her hair, while hers had already raked down his back.
They spilled onto the bed, a ball of limbs and barely contained violence. The voice in George's head was cackling now. "That's it, kid. Show her who's boss."
Hours later, as first light began to crawl into the room, George lay there looking at the ceiling. His chest was tight with Shiva's head resting on it, breathing slow and even.
"You know this changes nothing," he muttered.
Shiva's eyes flicked open, alert as ever. "Of course not. I'm not here to play house, Wayne."
George's arm tightened around her. "Then why are you here?"
She propped herself up to get a better look at him. "Gotham's changing. I want to be on the winning side."
"And you think that's me?" George cocked an eyebrow.
Shiva's smile was razor-sharp. "I think you're the most interesting player on the board. For now."
Grunting, his mind still racing, George conceded that Shiva as an ally might be advantageous for him. But trusting her.
"Fine," he growled. "But step out of line and I will-"
Shiva stopped him, putting a finger to his lips. "Save the threats, Dark Knight. We both know the game we're playing."
Curling back against him, George stared into the light that was growing. Gotham was changing, alright. And he had been the catalyst. The voice in his head murmured, 'The fun's just beginning, kid. Better buckle up.'
George let exhaustion claim him, closing his eyes. Whatever the hell came next, he'd be ready. He had to be—for Gotham's sake.